


Eww I need to clear all this out but I don't want it to disappear forever

by Dorleing



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Study, Writing Exercise, character sketch, old stuff from high school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorleing/pseuds/Dorleing
Summary: all that cringe stuff from ye olde high school days when writing exercises were me getting wayyy too into my head
Kudos: 1





	1. Little Girl, Gen

A Castle on a hill, over-looking forest and field. Mighty is the King of this Castle, iron fist and merciless to his enemies. His exterior is imposing, and his dwelling reflects his image. Inside, paranoia and doubt spread ever forward, enveloping those living within. This King has many children, and no queens; he rescues the orphans his wars have created. His wealth can afford him many things, but time is never one of them. So he hires the best of the best; governesses, tutors, instructors. His children are reared by these men and women from far off lands; etiquette and society sewn into their minds and bodies faster than the language of the land.

A traitor is beheaded. His family is never notified. His wealth joins the coffers, property belongs to the King. His children join the hoarde in the Castle; his wife, the streets.

Gen is a dutiful Lady of the Castle. She follows her King’s orders:

  1. A Lady is to be accompanied by escorts at all times (being alone is a step closer to death at the hands of a stranger)
  2. Her meals are to be finished without complaint (a Lady must grow strong)
  3. She must learn everything from her lessons (to not hurt her teachers’ feelings)
  4. She must always stay in the Castle (never EVER venture into the woods)
  5. Listen and obey everything her King commands of her (EVERYTHING)



She follows this routine day after day, letting the Castle drain her of youth. She lets her attendants push and pull and shape her into a Lady. She does not complain when her hair is pulled up too tight and her shoes pinch. Maybe one day, her King will notice her efforts to please him. She is, after all, his most dutiful child. (One day, she will leave this all behind…)

The Castle is always bustling. There is always work to be done. The living don’t walk, they mill away, hour after hour. The halls are full of bustling skirts, a cloak that should have been removed at the door, a moving mass, pulling in all directions. Dishes clank and clatter. A prince is being escorted to the dungeons, his actions unfit for society. He’ll be back tomorrow in time for his lessons. (Gen will visit him tonight, and make sure her brother eats. This is only the second time they’ve talked to each other.)

The stares are harsh. The Castle always judges those within. The sconces peer, the archways observe, and the paintings, they are the worst of all. They follow. Even the statues spy on the living. (Gen wishes she were a statue: unmoved, impenetrable.)

The living in the Castle always hurry. The living fear of time running out. The living carry the judgement of others. The living must keep one eye behind them, never knowing when they will be the next traitor.

Gen is swept away in the perfect storm of society. She waltzes through the judges, passing with her normalcy and perfection. She keeps her mind blank, never cracking her mask of diligent servitude. She is grateful to her King for this opportunity of life. She will never wonder about meals or shelter, never worry over material matters.

She smiles ever wider. (She welcomes the thought of assassins.)

She lives a charmed life. If only she was paler, she could have it all. The King has strange tastes to want her as a child. (She wishes for the Castle to drain her skin of its color, as it drains everything else from her.)

Gen lets the arrangements be made for her. Her prince is more than thrice her age, he is already battle worn. (Gen knows of her own battle scars, hidden from view. Society would never approve.)

Gen lets her knight guards think she sleeps soundly. She stuffs her pillows to shape a child’s body in deep rest. She dresses in dirty linens, and leaves through the fireplace. (She has never welcomed the stifling heat of summer nights before.)

Gen has been training, letting her body and mind grow stronger, pushing against the restraints of society. She scales walls and ducks out of sight of patrolling protectorates. One last sprint across the field to the forest. The trees beckon in the moonlight.

The forest is quiet. Only the smallest of creatures with beating hearts judge, and only judge one’s intention towards them. The trees rustle, the wind being as it will. The rocks are solid and sound and silent. They stay and stand, ever present, unconditionally loving. (Gen never knew it would feel so nice.)

Gen breathes in the air of life, far from the reaches of humanity’s polluted skies.

The beings of the woods know a fellow child when they see one. She is welcomed home with open arms. Her burdens shed like onion skin with every step she takes on this path untraveled by humankind. (Never again will Gen consider herself human.)

Gen has disobeyed her King. Death is her only fate if she is found. So she will lose herself, completely, in this forest, and the next.

If one falls, their story only gets more complicated.

Rumors are attracted to ruin.

There are rumors of a Castle. A Castle on a hill, over-looking forest and field. There are rumors of a King. Mighty is this King, they say. A King who dominated a land that was not his own. A King who showed no mercy and ruled with a fist stronger than iron.

This King, they say, took a liking to killing traitors. He could find traitors wherever he looked. They say orphans of his own creation filled the streets.

This merciless King showed pity on the children of traitors, and brought them to his Castle, raising them as his own. He sought out only the best caretakers, paying them with the spoils of his purge.

There are rumors of a child of the King. Gen, a Lady more dutiful than any other.

They say Gen was the perfect model of society, poised more perfectly than any statue, the only difference was her lack of alabaster. Some say that she was cursed or charmed, but the specifics of such magic have been lost to time.

There have been searches for evidence of Gen’s existence, rather than just word of mouth. An ally prince’s proposal. A painting of a child without a name. An unmarked grave.

A theory abounds of a secret escape. Perhaps a forest lover helped steal her away. Or a jealous fey sought revenge on the King.


	2. Chapter 2

A Castle on a hill, over-looking forest and field. Mighty is the king of this Castle, iron fist and merciless to his enemies. His exterior is imposing, and his dwelling reflects his image. Inside, paranoia and doubt spread ever forward, enveloping those living within. This king has many children, and no queens, as his method of reproduction is through other means. His wealth can afford him many things, but time is never one of them. So he hires the best of the best; governesses, tutors, instructors. His children are reared by these men and women from far off lands; etiquette and society sewn into their minds and bodies faster than the language of the land.

A traitor is beheaded. His family is never notified. His wealth joins the coffers, property belongs to the King. His children join the hoarde in the castle; his wife, the streets.

Gen is a dutiful Lady of the Castle. She follows her King’s orders:

  1. A Lady is to be accompanied by escorts at all times (being alone is a step closer to death at the hands of a stranger)
  2. Her meals are to be finished without complaint (a Lady must grow strong)
  3. She must learn everything from her lessons (to not hurt her teachers’ feelings)
  4. She must always stay in the Castle (never EVER venture into the woods my dear child)
  5. Listen and obey everything her King commands of her (EVERYTHING)



She follows this routine day after day, letting the Castle drain her of youth. She lets her attendants push and pull and shape her into a Lady. She does not complain when her hair is pulled up too tight and her shoes pinch. Maybe one day, her King will notice her efforts to please him. She is, after all, his most dutiful child. (One day, she will leave this all behind…)

The Castle is always bustling. There is always work to be done. The living don’t walk, they mill away, hour after hour. The halls are full of bustling skirts, a cloak that should have been removed at the door, a moving mass, pulling in all directions. Dishes clank and clatter. A prince is being escorted to the dungeons, his actions unfit for society. He’ll be back tomorrow in time for his lessons. (Gen will visit him tonight, and make sure her brother eats. This is only the second time they’ve talked to each other.)

The stares are harsh. The Castle always judges those within. The sconces peer, the archways observe, and the paintings, they are the worst of all. They follow. Even the statues spy on the living. (Gen wishes she were a statue.)

The living in the Castle always hurry. The living fear of time running out. The living carry the judgement of others. The living must keep one eye behind them, never knowing when they will be the next traitor.

Gen is swept away in the perfect storm of society. She waltzes through the judges, passing with her normalcy and perfection. She keeps her mind blank, never cracking her mask of diligent servitude. She is grateful to her King for this opportunity of life. She will never wonder about meals or shelter, never worry over material matters.

She smiles ever wider. (She welcomes the thought of assassins.)

She lives a charmed life. If only she was paler, she could have it all. The King has strange tastes to want her as a child. (She wishes for the Castle to drain her skin of its color, as it drains everything else from her.)

Gen lets the arrangements be made for her. Her prince is more than thrice her age, he is already battle worn. (Gen knows of her own battle scars, hidden from view. Society would never approve.)

Gen lets her knight guards think she sleeps soundly. She stuffs her pillows to shape a child’s body in deep rest. She dresses in dirty linens, and leaves through the fireplace. (She has never welcomed the stifling heat of summer nights before.)

Gen has been training, letting her body and mind grow stronger, pushing against the restraints of society. She scales walls and ducks out of sight of patrolling protectorates. One last sprint across the field to the forest. The trees beckon in the moonlight.

The forest is quiet. Only the smallest of creatures with beating hearts judge, and only judge one’s intention towards them. The trees rustle, the wind being as it will. The rocks are solid and sound and silent. They stay and stand, ever present, unconditionally loving. (Gen never knew it would feel so nice.)

Gen breathes in the air of life, far from the reaches of humanity’s polluted skies.

The beings of the woods know a fellow child when they see one. She is welcomed home with open arms. Her burdens shed like onion skin with every step she takes on this path untraveled by humankind. (Never again will Gen consider herself human.)

Gen has disobeyed her King. Death is her only fate if she is found. So she will lose herself, completely, in this forest, and the next.

When King Rhor came to power in the land of beasts, he ordered the building of an impenetrable Castle. A Castle that could contain his worldly goods: his Children. King Rhor had never wanted a queen. He brought in children from the streets, and those of his enemies. There were no orphans in his kingdom. With this dilution of heirs, there was no set line of succession. No Child had preference over the other, in terms of political advantage. However, the children were rarely seen by the outside world. Only members of High Society ever entered the Castle, and they only saw a rotation of perfect children. Twenty or so sons and daughters, a variety of perfection.

There was a hierarchy of children. Only those that performed the best were able to attend court. Any skill was good, as long as it was done perfectly. Horse-riding, archery, swordsmanship, scholarly pursuits. One time, a daughter had picked all the locks in the Castle. She was rewarded with attendance in court.

Court was held every three days, the selection of the children happened the night before.

(No one had ever seen an adult Child come out of the castle, but rumors of what happened to them never spread further than the second person to hear. Their children would be added to the collective)

Gen was a perfect child. She often went to court and everything about her was admired by the nobility. All of her, except for she was too dark to really be perfect. Perfection was looking the best, being the best, and dark skin wasn’t beautiful.

Gen kept her perfect focus on her studies. She studied everything her tutors threw at her. She worked hard to be perfect in everyother way.

Her siblings worked hard as well. Everytime one started to raise above the others, the competition grew fiercer.

Gen felt as if she were an experiment.

There were no children over thirteen.

When a child reached thirteen or so, (as orphans never know how old they are), they were led to the King’s chambers. They were never seen by the children again. A child became old nearly everyday

The old children became the new instructors, tutors, maids. That was how King Rhor kept a full staff at all times. The mystery should’nt be revealed this easily. Let the reader ponder for longer.

A little girl was walking in the streets. A bloody battle had just been fought. She didn’t know where her parents were.

“MAMA”

A giant hand was put in her face. She looked up. A kind face was smiling at her.

“Are you lost, little girl?”

The hand belonged to a giant man with skin paler than anything she had ever seen. He had a kind enough face, even though it was unfamiliar.

She wasn’t sure about him. His eyes spoke of one thousand ways to die. She had already learned at her young age to trust the truth in eyes. The girl stared at the man. He kept his hand out and continued to look in her eyes.

The little girl felt as if he was staring into her soul.

I stood at the side of the courtroom, my King was listening to a peasant complain about the rising taxes.


	3. Physical Love

Broken glass tiles caught the light streaming through the windows stained with handprints, refracting their colors and shapes onto the walls lined with shelves. Garishly crude and obscenely tall shelves they were. Nothing but two-by-fours, plywood, and a chance nailed together in hopes of supporting the weight of thousands of possibilities, hundreds of dreams, and a few pounds of potential. Metal scraps peeked out of their tub, inviting willing fingertips for slicing should they stray into their domain. Never were the glazes labeled with their true hues, only a desperate guess; their warning labels worn off from years of refilling. Clay dust hung dangerously thick in the air, coating airways and bodies. The lingering stench of markers permeated the canvases in the bins. The humming of 7000 degrees came from behind the closet door. A door that had been attacked by the most brilliant of minds; their words carved into the wood itself, sprawling over each other, each demanding space and attention. Dripping water from the sinks continued for an eternity. The taps leaked, the drains gurgled. Too much had disappeared down those pipes that should never have left ignorant hands. Staples and shards littered the floor, beckoning stocking feet to the unswept corners of the room. The tables were places of ever changing topography. Everyday brought a new forest, a new garden, renewed mountains of color and dust. Glue clung to everything that wasn’t its bottle. Floor to ceiling this room was filled with weapons of mass construction. All possible dangers were brushed aside, the glass shards in palms ignored. The scalded fingers could wait. Chemical burns were temporary. Upon entering the room, lungs were denied oxygen and given passion in its stead. Here, time couldn’t touch a thing. I was home. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> note: this is a character sketch, not my life

When I started on my journey to a distant land, filled with beasts and magic, I thought it would be like the fantasy I’ve read. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t even close. I never knew how perilous the world could be when everything really was against you. There has never been a reason to think that before. But I know better now. My life has always been a bit lack luster for my taste. By the time an opportunity to change it flew past my window, I jumped on its back and grabbed it by the horns. I was ready. I had trained and prepared for this moment my whole life. Or so I thought.

My father has spent the majority of my life in and out of rehab. My mother decided that I wouldn’t grow up with out a father figure. She befriended a biker gang, so they stop by twice a month to take me out on an adventure to show me true manliness.

Souls are separate entities from a body. Soul mate means they share a soul. There are no correlations between age, time, gender, world, families. Bodily damage does not cross over.

My dearest wish is to be independent from others. Whether that means my own apartment or living off grid, I don’t care. I don’t like being let down. Group projects are hell.


	5. siblings

Speckled light filtered through the pear tree. A child leapt to a branch above her. A sister sat underneath.

“Toss me one.”

“No, they’re mine.”

“They can’t all be yours, you need to share.”

“I won’t share with you. You don’t share with me.”

The child in the tree climbed higher. She plucked a pear and pocketed it.

“I do share with you. I share advice.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t need it.”

“You should at least say thank you.”

“No thanks, I’m not grateful.”

“Well, I want one, so give me one.”

“No. I’m not going to. You can get one yourself.” The child spoke down to the sister.

“What if I don’t want to? You are there already, so give me one. All I want is one.”

“No. Go away. Leave me alone.”

“Not until you give me one.”

The child reached the top of the tree and bit into her pear.

“I won’t stop talking until you toss one to me. I’ll talk until your ears fall off. I’ll keep giving you advice.”

“I can’t hear you, I’m busy.”

“Yes, you can hear me. I want one!”

“I can see so much from up here.”


	6. And then the murders began...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to quote an english teacher "any story can be made better by adding 'and then the murders began' to the first sentence"

The night sky never looked so much like bright blood splatters before. The walls of the apartment were celestial in their decorum. A constellation of sinew and iron.


	7. Day One

Rain dribbled down the window. The group gathered around a center point, but the tables, though circular, did not circle up easily. Laughter weaved with the thunder. Cracks at one another sent ripples through the group. The grey light from outside kept the room dimly lit. The group was of fifteen, women and men meeting with purpose. Not only witty remarks to every comment were discussed, but ideas that would change worlds.

A late comer rushes in, setting their bags down and quickly taking a seat. The group tittered at the interruption to their flow. The late comer, expecting that reaction, brought forth bribery snacks. The pastries were well received and crumbs spilled in the rush to grab the sweets.

“No thanks,” the woman by the window spoke, amusement in her tone. “I’m allergic.”

“And I’m sensitive to allergies,” Another piped up. Sugar-induced laughter rippled around the tables.

“Our mission,” their guide said, “Is how to liken a barn to a dead man.”

“Have it be abandoned; taken over by ants.” “Drop a bomb on it.” 

“What do you see?” their guide asked. “When you look at this man.”

“Bullet holes,” “Decay,” “Hollowed form with out a soul,” “I see red.” “Why are barns red?”

Their discussion led to asking arcane knowledge from those raised in the rural reaching regions of rocky, rolling hills. As such, not all privy to such knowledge freely offered up their experience.

“I see the skeleton of the barn.” People shifted in their seats, denim rustled and there were those who rummaged in their packs.

“Take note,” their guide interjected. “I don’t know the answers. You must find them yourself.”

“I’d like feedback on my answers,” the late comer said, their first words of the afternoon. The mood of the people became intrigued, silently urging them to continue.

The late comer cleared their throat and began to read. Their voice carried the fate of many, possibility of creation and destruction hung in the air, swirling with the syllables, breaking on the harsh rocks of consonants and flowing over the currents of vowels. The story filled the hearts and minds of the listeners, convincing them of a reality in which they could partake in the shaping of. As the story neared its close, the group gripped the edges of their seats. The final breath of the story fluttered to the ground. Their guide was the first to speak.

“My only advice is to work on your grammar.”


	8. mountains

She wakes up to mountain sunrises every morning. Snowy peaks greet the day in sparkling wonder, refusing to let the glimmer of their starlight cease. The valleys are still blanketed in sleep, blissfully dozing til the warmth of the sun raises them from slumber. Glaciers groan and boulders break apart with a yawn. The dawning sun pokes its rays into the crevasses within its reach. The stars slowly fade out as the sun creeps higher into the sky. Trees bristle and shake off their dew, reaching higher to grasp the sun. Birds call to each other, invites to spend the day together. Ferns gaze at the sky, longing to be as brilliant in their own color. Growing is the theme of this morning.

Her morning routine goes something like this: Spend time admiring the dawn. Sip tea and read poetry. Hear the latest gossip the songbirds are spreading. Spread a bit of gossip as well. Commune with the squirrels on seed supplies. Gather intel from the edge of the forest by way of passing deer. Arrange a meeting with the foxes and badgers on tunnel network progress. Train in defense with the bear. Play with her cubs. Learn offensive strategies from the Pack in the Hills. Gather flowers from the alpine meadow a peak to the North (they are more vibrant than the ones to the South). Meditate on a different boulder than the day before. Let vibrations from the past be a guide. Listen to the wisdom of the wind, it brings news from the West.

The mountains are preparing. Defenses span the edges of meadows, stretch through the forests, reach under the lakes. Lookouts are everywhere. Scouts are sent ahead. Feelings of unease are falling upon the creatures of the peaks. She stands at the ready. War is coming. 


	9. He

The night he was born, the old gods celebrated the birth of a new prophet. Realizing his propensity for attracting mystics, his parents made sure he always had iron jewelry on. At two years old he got lost in the woods behind his house in West Virginia. A shadowy creature guided him back to his mother’s arms. At seven years old he discovered ghosts in his house. His parents asked if they were angry. He said to just act as if they weren’t there. His parents forgot about the ghosts eventually. He didn’t. At nine years old his life’s ambition was to become a government sanctioned secret, hopefully as a cryptid. This started his three-year journey into cryptozoology. At twelve years old he was dealing in myths and legends, selling and trading them at school with other students who had enough sense to believe in them. At fourteen years old he started making his own talismans for everyday wear.

His teachers deemed him a sensible boy, sensitive to others’ feelings and moods. His teachers didn’t mind his recess retellings of the Jersey Devil and how to protect oneself from a Hide-Behind. Mrs. Bennet, his third-grade teacher, knew of his frequent meetings with the dryads in the school’s gardens. She encouraged him to listen to their concerns. At his third-grade graduation, she gave him a mushroom spores kit, telling him to start his own fairy garden. When he planted them, the mushrooms grew ten feet in a month. His parents doted on his new-found green thumb and happily helped him start a communal garden.

When he started a business selling his talismans, he met his best friend. She had strong connections with the Fae. They started traveling through the woods together, mapping out different Fae settlements and the favorite haunts of monsters. They made their own bridge over a stream and promised to never let a Terabithia happen to them. At age eighteen, his best friend wanted to take a gap year. She went to live with the Fae, with promises to come back before he was thirty. When she returned, he was twenty-two.

He played varsity soccer in high school. Coaches had never seen such a brilliant strategist of his level before. He received many college offers for his sport. The summer he was twelve he went to a marksman camp. His aim was impeccable. The soda cans never stood a chance. His school took a trip to Ontario for plant identification in ninth grade. He discovered a new species of fern. Others in his class had issues with seeing the difference between poison oak and poison sumac.

When he adopted his daughter as a single father, he took her around the world in search of the furriest cats she could hold. He taught her to play drums of all sorts: rock, congas, timpani. When she accidentally stole a piece of candy from the store when she was five, he taught her how to steal items off someone’s person. He taught her to escape from handcuffs using almond butter and pick locks with a blade of grass.

The first time he was featured in the newspaper was for being the fastest apple bobber in West Virginia. He went to Nationals where he was met with five contenders, all from southern states. Georgia’s champion broke a tooth when the apples in his barrel turned to bronze. Louisiana’s managed to snap her femur in half when she fell into her barrel. No one could prove that the incidents were caused by goblins.

When he was forty years old, his mother called him on her birthday to let him know she was moving to Sweden, and if he followed her she would curse him for life. He never saw her in person again. His only contact was when pay phones near him rang. She was updating him on her number of confirmed kills. Sweden’s princess knighted her in services to the nations’ children. Trolls left Sweden and went to haunt the Finnish. His father never left the house in West Virginia.

When he was sixty, he and his best friend went on a world-wide seafaring expedition to discover the Kraken. She fell overboard in the Atlantic and showed up on a beach in Palau two months later looking as if she had aged six years. She hated any mention of fishing after that.

On his death bed, a host of creatures from the glen came and wished him well on his journey through the next realm. 


	10. The Stitch Witch

The lady marched into town. She was an odd sight for the grown-ups. Her hair was white, and she had dark skin, far darker than the grown-ups had ever seen. One man tried to stop her, to talk to her about why she was in town, but she went right past him. The lady headed to the market, and the grown-ups followed. She didn’t look at the food stands and went straight to the fabric seller. She looked at the most bright and pretty colors, the teals and oranges looked nice with her purple clothes. We came out to meet the familiar face, to play with her, but the grown-ups wouldn’t let us go near her. She turned from the fabrics to sweep her gaze over the town, eyes flashing. We hoped she would stay with us forever.

The girl visited town. She was undoubtedly the most strangely attired person we had ever seen. Barefooted, wearing ill-fitting purple robes (that were clearly above her station), and black skin. What business a young girl had with being white haired, we didn’t know. She ignored the town greeter, pushing past him to get to the marketplace. We followed, if only to make sure she didn’t cause trouble. If she had only come to get food, we wouldn’t have minded her as much. But she grabbed at the most vibrant fabrics in town, without a care for their cost. The children wanted to get a closer look at her, but she was strange enough to be dangerous. She finally noticed us watching her and whipped her head around, glaring all the while. We hoped she could tell she wasn’t welcome here.

She went to the town not unwillingly. On a mission, she hadn’t given much thought to how her appearance might have been interpreted by the townsfolk. Light hair paired with dark skin and being barefoot in princely robes was certain to draw attention. She saw the children had noticed her, coming out to play with her, but she couldn’t this time. A man tried to stop her, grabbing at her arms. She ducked past his arms and kept walking, nearly sprinting this time. She couldn’t stop to look at the food at the market, going only to the fabric stand. She needed as many vivid colors as they had, and hastily pulled out the bolts she needed. The judging glares of the townsfolk prickled at her neck. She tried to meet their eyes, to accept their challenge, but the sun in her eyes nearly blinded her. She hoped her first visit to this town would be her last.


End file.
